


Happy Hour

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: RP-verse [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Shots, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Ice Play, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 06:38:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11868744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: York spends a pleasant evening drinking. Carolina joins him.





	Happy Hour

**Author's Note:**

> These summaries are shamefully boring but its HARD to summarize snippets like this. PWPs. Oof.
> 
> The actual set up and drinking done in the RP properly can be found in three parts, [here,](https://pflagentyork.tumblr.com/post/163063503567/pflagentnorthdakota-pflagentyork) [here](https://pflagentnorthdakota.tumblr.com/post/163071710750/pflagentyork-pflagentnorthdakota) and [here](https://pflagentyork.tumblr.com/post/163079785972/pflagentcarolina-pflagentyork) in order. You don't HAVE to read them to get context but they're fun nonetheless, IMO. 
> 
> consolation prize while I scramble to finish TATK's next chapter. IM SO CLOSE BUT ITS ECLIPSE DAY

York settles over top of her, and his comforting weight and warmth helps to quiet Carolina's fear, and his kisses replace it with something sweeter.  She wraps her arms around him, one hand settling just above his ass, the other moving gently over his port.  His kisses are wet and hungry, and she tilts her head back, inviting him to her neck.

He follows the curve of the tendons and veins, spotty hickeys without much suction or teeth behind them, down to her collarbone. Even with two and a bit glasses of water in him, York is drunk; even with their very serious discussion, York is pleased; he hums more of the song from earlier into her skin as he jumps down to duck under her loose-fitting shirt, pushing it up to her chest as he tries to remember where on her he left off exactly.

She watches him deliberate for a moment, then lower his mouth to her chest.  She can feel him leaving marks still, but quicker, without as much force, as though eager to move on, move lower.  Then he reaches the curve of her breast and he takes a moment to settle himself.  She raises her knees on either side of him to help him be more comfortable, and watches him lean down and suck in earnest.

He’s really learning to love her breasts, how soft and pliant they are and how quickly they can take Carolina from amused to ravenous. Satisfied with the mark he left on the top, he shoves her sports bra up to reveal both of them for his ministrations. York wouldn't say he has an oral fixation but he does love using his mouth, and as he rolls the firm tip of her nipple against the roof of his mouth with his tongue, he thinks she might love him using it, too.

Carolina gasps as his tongue caresses her nipple, first soft, then working with his hard palate and teeth to set every nerve in her body on fire, and the obscene sucking sound he makes when he looks up at her is only tempered by the tenderness in his eyes.  She lifts her knees on either side of him, can't stop herself from rolling against him.  She grabs a fistful of his hair and lowers him back down again, trying to be gentle, trying not to crush him to her, and her moan sounds pained with the effort.

York rumbles, a deep and pleased sound in the back of his throat, and rocks his hips against the bed. He’s thankful booze doesn't usually affect his ability to get hard, and even that shallow friction feels great. Pressing her tits together with his hands to deeper her cleavage, York switches sides, leaving the left to cool and stiffen in the air.

Carolina is shaking under him now, face burning with arousal and need. She's almost embarrassed how quickly she falls apart under his touch like this, but that shame is quickly overridden by the pure pleasure of it.  She grips the waistband of his sweats with both hands, pulling him against her, rolling against him, and is torn between wanting to raise him for a kiss and leaving him right where he is.

Struck by a thought, York pulls off her. “Body shots,” he blurts, lips red and slick.

Carolina blinks at the abruptness of the interruption, completely derailed.  “What?”

“Body shots. We said we’d do body shots.” York sits up, his easily scattered focus fixated entirely on the idea. “I wanna do body shots.”

“I haven't even finished my first drink yet.” Hadn't had more that's few sips, actually.  Carolina sat up and grabbed her glass in order to remedy that.  She took a long sip then turned her attention back to him.  “You'll have to walk me through it - never done one of these before.”

“Sure, sure, sure, sure,” he rambles as he rolls off her, reaching for the peppermint he’d been drinking from earlier. “Easy stuff. Just pour some booze in your partner's navel and suck it off them. You like mint? We could do peppermint patty shots. Pretty fitting for you to do off me, I’d think.”

“Peppermint patties were always my favourite  anyway.  Let's do this.”  Carolina drains the last of her green dragon and as she sets the glass down she  _ finally _ feels the first effects of it.  She takes a deep relaxed breath and watches York remove the cap off the vodka.  “Who’s going first?”

“You.” York gets up, adjusting his pants and (after taking the last glass off) clearing his desk with a shove. He hops onto it, stretching himself out on his back, and reaches above his head to get the mocklate syrup from the floor. “You've got some catching up to do, sugar. I've had about four already tonight.”

Privately thrilled that he’s been in the habit of shaving his chest since space basic, York uncaps the mocklate syrup and drizzled his best drunk approximation of a heart just over where it sits under his ribcage.

“C-come and get me,” he says, stammering from the chill. “Chocolate first.” 

“Will do.” Carolina grabs the bottle of vodka, and carefully as possible she fills the hollow of his navel.  She watches for a moment to make sure it isn't going to spill over his side, then moves up to his chest.  “Ready?”  Without waiting for an answer, she leans down and licks across the mocklate heart.  Her first try does nothing but smear it across his chest, and she hurriedly makes one more pass before swinging back over his stomach.  She drops her mouth to the alcohol and takes a long draw.  There's too much for one attempt, and she’s lucky enough to swallow before she starts laughing.  

York is trying his damndest to stay still but the sensations of syrup and vodka and tongue on his skin make him tingle, and he sinks his teeth into his lip; but her laughter makes him crack up as well, and the last of the vodka slides down his sides and starts to soak the hem of his pants.

“Focus,” he tries to scold, “we can't waste any!”

Carolina meets his eye for only a second, but it’s enough to send her into another round of giggles.  “I'm sorry!  Trying, trying…”

She leans down again, trying to control her breathing, stay focused.  But the moment she presses her lips to him, she's laughing again, her breath sending up a small spray of alcohol over his chest.  She finally gives up on sucking any up and laps at it dog-like with her tongue instead.

York, too, gives up and cackles along with her, little gasps and keens sneaking in between his laughs as she licks an especially sensitive spot. They're making a mess and he’s glad he didn't have her do it in the bed, and this might be some of the most fun he’s had on board the ship that wasn't about sex. Well, not entirely about sex. That’s coming, sure, but--

“Oooh god,” he laughs, catching his breath as Carolina keeps running her tongue over the lines in his stomach as he tenses under her teasing touch, “okay. Not that one next time. Too messy.”

“Maybe just a little.  But I like it.”   She looks up and gives York a wink before giving one last lick across his abdomen and straightening up.  She looks him up and down. “Oh shit, nearly forgot…”  

Carolina drags her finger across the remaining chocolate sauce higher up on his body, and places it in her mouth.  “Mmm.  This might take a minute.  I want to enjoy this.”  She settles herself as comfortably as possible, bent over in this manner, and applies her tongue in slow broad strokes over his heart.  

“Take your time,” he rasps, crossing his arms behind his head and doing his best to show off his body as much as possible. He wonders if she can feel his heart racing under her mouth, the rush of intoxicated blood headed to his cock as his breath starts to go heavy. Eyes closed, York focuses entirely on her mouth, the tickling drag of her bangs, the smell of mint alcohol and chocolate.

She does take her time, pausing to gaze critically at his skin between licks, making sure nothing is missed.  On her last pass, she makes it an extra long stroke, passing over his nipple.  She pauses only a moment to suck gently and close her teeth around it before pulling away.  “Turnabout’s fair play.”  

Drunk and unrestrained, the pleased noise he makes resonates through his chest as he shifts his hips, eyes fluttering open to meet her gaze. “That was nice.”

“I'll remember that, then.  But for now -- your turn.”  Carolina reaches down to give him a gentle pinch on the ass.  “Move.”

There's a second where York is convinced he is about to eat shit and drop flat on the floor at his girlfriend's feet, but some military training or something must kick in because he ends up standing next to her, crowding her against the desk from behind. “Think I’ve got some tequila and salt in the stash somewhere. Maybe even some lime juice.” If he grinds a little against her ass when he kisses her cheek, he hopes she won’t mind. That feels good, too, and York is a little bit of a hedonist when drunk.

With York pressed against her back, Carolina leans ever so slightly forward against the desk, just enough that she knows he feels it.  “Go ahead. Whatever you want.” She turns enough to look back at him. “Tequila, salt, lime, whatever.  Come show me how a pro does it.”

His hands snap to her hips on their own accord, and York finds his breath hard to catch as the desire to take her from the back hits him like a truck - a comparison he doesn't make lightly considering their line of work, and a position he’s always felt conflicted over. Later. He’ll think about Carolina bent over a desk, with her long hair twined around his fingers as her back arches, later. Not now.

“Lay down,” he says, forcing himself to back away as he starts to hunt through his stash, shaking his head to clear it and come back to himself. “Take your shirt off, and-- and your pants, too, please? Don't want get them dirty.”

She removes her shirt with a flourish, and her bra a bit more carefully after.  She steps carefully out of her track pants, holding the side of the desk as the vodka joins the other alcohol already in her system. She kicks her pants away across the room and waits for York to look up.  “Panties on or off?”

“Uh,” and he looks her up and down, bottle in hand, “off. No no, on.” Mentally he makes a note to see about getting her a pair of something special - not too flashy, just something with a bit of extra color or lace.

“As you wish.”  She sits on the edge of the desk and draws her legs slowly up with her until she is completely on the desk.  Only then does she shift around, lining her body appropriately for easy access for him to do the shot, and allows her legs to dangle off the end.  She crosses and increases her ankles, kicks her legs ever so slightly, just enough to keep drawing his eye.  “Good like this?”

It takes him a moment to hear her; another to process the question. “Uhhh, sure, yeah, it’s-- you're good, very good.” Longer still to get up and remember what he’s doing. The salt he shakes in a little pile on the inside of her unmarked hip, the lime juice just below her breastbone, and tequila in her navel. 

Carolina tries not to squirm as he prepares, but as the alcohol kicks in it is getting harder to keep from reaching out to touch him.  And besides, it  _ tickles. _

York lets his fingers trace her thigh before he dives in- salt first, then sucking the fluid off her stomach and then her chest with speed borne of thirst. It's not as good, deconstructed and slow like this, but as he goes back over her skin for the leftovers, York finds a different kind of enjoyment.

Carolina gasps as he moves over her body at speed, far faster and smoother than she ever could have managed.  It isn't until he retraces over her, that she starts to laugh.  “God York,  _ stop... _ fuck...it tickles!”  She pulls her legs up, nearly curling her body around his head, giggling uncontrollably. 

Struck by impulse, York smushes his face against her stomach and blows.

Carolina lets out a shriek of laughter, grabbing him by the hair, trying to force him away from her skin, but so paralyzed by giggles she can barely move him. He attacks again, and the bubbling sound rips the air from her lungs.  She's trapped between him, the desk and the wall - there's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and her torturer is downright gleeful.  

She tries to make a break for it, but shoving his shoulder only moves him a single step backward, and his arms are around her before she can attempt to roll off the desk.  She buries her face into his arm, wheezing and begging for mercy.

“I can't believe you're ticklish,” he breathes, delighted. The kiss he gives her is bitter-salty from the shot and probably has a little too much tongue. His blood’s been up since the moment she walked in the room and his heart beats in time with a mantra of ‘ _ fuck fuck fuck.’ _

Carolina clings to him through the kiss, and when they finally part she holds his gaze, struggling to find words for what she wants to say.  She brings her fingers up to his mouth and drags them down his lips.  Her own part when he catches one of her fingertips in his mouth and gently sucks.  “I wanna be in bed with you.”

“Okay.” In hindsight he probably could have picked her up in a fashion more romantic than scooping her up bridal style and then tossing her over one shoulder, but Carolina merely squeals again, holding on for dear life, and they make it to the bed in one piece. York weasels himself between her legs and kisses her again, down her still sticky body and pausing at her breasts.

“Hey, listen,” he starts, tone easy and conversational, “I wanna fuck at least once before the inevitable shower sobers me up, you gonna be okay with that?”

“What do you think I've been waiting for?”  Carolina leans forward trying to kiss him, but can't reach, and flops back on the mattress with a huff.  She attempts to corral him up to her with her legs, but he merely runs his hand up over her thigh and she lays there, pouting.

“But,” he continues, nuzzling the inside of her hipbone, “you've got me curious. You said something a few days back. Something about ice? Iceplay? I’d be down to try that, since we’ve already got some out.”

“Oh!”  Her mood flips in an instant.  “Where?  Gimme some! Lay down!”  She claws her way up to sitting.  “Where is it?”

York flops onto his side and points to the pair of discarded glasses - his whiskey, her mixed drink - on his bedside table, totally content to let her take control.

She grabs her glass and fishes out one cube.  It's melted a little -- It's nearly half it's original  size, but it will work.  She pops it in her mouth just a second to suck it clean and turns back to York, who is still laying on his side, watching her.  “What’re you doing?  You're not ready!”  

Carolina gives his shoulder a shove, so he rolls onto his back.  “Better.”  She climbs atop him, straddling his waist, and leans forward for a messy kiss. 

York loops his arms around her neck and savors the taste of booze in her mouth, wonders if she tastes his and likes it as much. He’s excited to try this, whatever she has planned, and when she sucks on his lower lip his hips jerk of their own accord.  

“I love doing that.” She applies her teeth this time, tugging his lip as she pulls away, feeling as well as hearing the moan she drags out of him.  She sits up taller, then touches the ice to his lips, skimming it over him in circuits around his mouth before leaning down to kiss him, licking along the now cool skin with her tongue.

He makes an appreciative coo and wiggles underneath her. “Very nice,” he says, crossing his wrists above his head to give her better access to his body. “More?”

“My pleasure.”  Carolina drags the ice down over his chin and down his throat, keeping carefully over where the arteries and veins run closest.  She tries to keep from staying too long, to keep the cold from building to pain, but just long enough for him to feel the chill leeching into his body, spreading through him, just enough to make him shiver beneath her.  She savours the way his eyes follow her every move.

She leans down and licks away the water that is starting to drip down his neck.  The cube has grown smaller from use, and she scrubs it in graceless stripes across his chest before popping it into her mouth to bite down with a crunch.  She dives for her cup again, pulling out a second cube, and without bothering to clean this one she leans against him, pressing it against his chest, drawing circles around his nearest nipple, watching his face to gauge his reaction.

York jolts at that last move; he’s already been teetering on a new kind of edge as cool ice had been replaced with Carolina’s warm mouth and vice versa, but this threatens to shove him off entirely. The kick takes him by surprise, a burst of almost-too-much like what he loves so much.

“Very, very nice,” he wheezes, “the ice is nice and th-that almost rhymes, doesn't it?”

“I've only just started,” she purrs.  She moves the ice across his chest to start circles around his other nipple, watching with satisfaction as he jerks weakly, then lowers her mouth to him.  She draws her tongue in firm circuits around his cold nipple, then sinks down the rest of the way to latch her mouth around him, warm and soft, to gently suck.

York writhes underneath her, slurring curses under his breath, hands falling to her shoulders to rub them in encouragement; this intoxicated, his skin hunger is on autopilot, and he bends his knees to try to hook an ankle around Carolina’s calf, anything to feel more of her. “Nnnnnn, ahhh, gonna have to do this sober sometime too,” he groans, brushing her hair out of her face only for it to fall back immediately.

“Anything you want.”  Carolina gives him a smile before sliding across his chest to attach herself to his other nipple, tongue massaging around the hard tip as she moans against him, breathing hard through her nose.  She reaches over to pinch at the one she had his abandoned, and she tilts her head towards York, pulling off just enough so he can see her tongue working before sealing around him to suck hard. 

He shivers under her, but he’s growing impatient. “I want a turn too,” and it comes out petulant as he tries to pull her up for a kiss and roll them over.

“Okay,” She allows herself to be drunkenly manhandled, relaxing into his messy kiss before ending up on her back.  Unlike him, she isn't still wearing pants, and her work with the ice already has her feeling chilled.  She pulls him close to enjoy his warmth just a little longer.

York sucks her cold fingers into his mouth, warming them with his tongue as he settles between her legs, soaking in the softness of her skin and the way he can feel her muscles flexing just beneath it. For a moment he completely forgets what he’s planned, drunk on the contact of their bodies. Soon, though, he rallies, and starts to trace patterns and shapes on her skin with a fresh ice cube. Down the valley between her breasts, alone the planes of her stomach, up to nearly crest the peak of her nipple and then to the dip in her collarbone. He follows them with the tip of his tongue, more to tease than warm, and nuzzles her navel affectionately.

At the first touch of the ice, a riot of goosebumps break out over Carolina's entire body, and it is only made worse by York’s tongue.  Whatever heat she gains in arousal is is lost as his saliva cools on her skin and she aches to pull him atop of her, but holds out, enjoying the sensuality of his lips and tongue against her.  

“I love you,” he reminds her, shifting his weight to hold himself over her, ice abandoned on the bed as he rubs the tips of their noses together. “Thanks for doing this with me.” 

“ I love you too.”  She draws him in for a kiss, lazy and sweet, but it ends abruptly as she has an idea.  “Get up.  Do we have more ice?  Clean ice?  I need one.  Now!”

“Yeah, just a couple left.” York pops the one from his bed in his mouth, the tiny thing (his logic being ‘it's my bed so it's not gross since it's me’) as he hands her the glass. The ice he holds in his mouth, chilling his tongue, as he leans down to sigh cool air over her nipple. “What's up?”

She slaps her free hand over his mouth and tries to give a stern look, but she's too excited to pull it off.  “Behave, or we aren't going to do this. And that would be a shame because -- shut up, you'll see.”  She is about to give him another kiss when she notices his pants. “Why the hell are you still dressed? I thought you wanted to fuck? Take them off.”  She sits and waits for him as he struggles to undress, and even leans down to helpfully yank the pants down off his ankles.  He manages his underwear on his own, and with a kick sends them flying clear across the room, which starts her into a new round of giggles before she can compose herself. She is about to fish a piece of ice out of the cup when she freezes.

“Fuck- need a towel. Hold this,” she commands, and sets the glass on York’s thigh. She barely registers his gasp as she lurches off the bed and into the bathroom.  She grabs the only towel she can see, hanging from a bar across from the shower. She can't tell if it is completely dry, but it doesn't matter - it won't be for long.

She makes a beeline back to the bed, stripping off her panties as she goes. “Off,” she orders and waits for him to pull himself to his feet.  She folds the towel in half, laying it waist-high across the bed and immediately settles herself on it.  “Glass.”  He sits on the edge of the bed looking completely bemused but delivers the cup to her.  

She peers in -- almost all the cubes left in York’s water are nearly half melted, so she selects two instead of just one. She lays back on the bed, and throws a look at York.  “Get up here.  Get ready.”  

“Ready for what?”  She doesn't answer, but points at a spot on the bed directly in front of her.  She lifts her knees and spreads her legs so he can get up close, and he kneels near enough that he could easily place his hands on her hips.  He's naked and hard -- that's as ready as he needs to be.

Carolina reaches down with one hand and slips the first ice cube into her vagina.  It burns as it goes in, the cold so intense that it registers as pain and she gasps.  Once in, however, she no longer feels it, and she presses the second in, too.

Carolina looks up into his startled blue eyes.  “Fuck me, York.  Now.”

If the sight of the ice vanishing inside of her wasn't enough - and it was, the image sears itself into his brain and will haunt his dreams for weeks - the command certainly is. York feels as though the floor dropped out from under him, plunging him into white hot lust that hits him hard enough he feels giddy. He doesn't waste any time asking for details or if she’s sure; if fact he barely registers moving at all until he’s on top of her, chest to chest, pushing inside of her, going in rapid succession to slick to tight to hot to cold.

He freezes (pun unintended but very fitting) at the shock of it; the sensation wipes his mind blank as a slate. Some word, a curse or a blessing or a name, falls out of his lips as he stares down to where their bodies meet and rolls his hips. It sends his mind reeling again, running through the same set of contrasting, amazing sensations that all boil down to the best goddamn sex of his life by a country mile.

The sensation for Carolina is indescribable - the feeling of fullness, of pressure beyond what she normally experiences with York, which is considerable by itself.  There liquid feel to it, how the pressure builds and moves with him, around his halting movements as he stalls again.  It is different, and good too, but not mindblowing, at least not until she opens her eyes and sees York.  

He is propping himself up over her, bracing himself on his hands on either side of her ribcage.  York’s face looks slack, mouth partway open.  His eyes are half closed and unfocused.  He's panting, his breath hot on her skin and when she moves her hips experimentally, it draws her name from his lips as slow as honey.  

“York?  Sweetheart?  This good?  Are you okay?”

York laughs, a sound that turns into a moan halfway through and ends on a sob. “Fuck,” he manages, falling into the rhythm she sets and tilting his head up to give her a wrecked grin. “Fuck, Carolina, you feelin’ this?”

“You like it?  You want to do this again sometime?”  She moves against him harder and feels a trickle of icy melt leak out between them.  “Move with me, York.  Fuck me.  I want to watch you lose your mind.”

“Already--” he swallows hard, the last sliver of ice he'd held going down with the motion as he rocks into her again, “already there, it's so, it's so, it's so--”

York drops onto his elbows, arms giving out, and misses her mouth with his first attempt at a kiss. “You know?” The melting water drips down his shaft to his balls and the noise he makes is embarrassingly close to a squeal.

“The cubes were small to start with- I think they may have already melted... “ Carolina fidgets for a moment, feels another trickle.  “York, bunch the towel up under me and pull out?  Just for a sec?”  He obediently does so, and as he pulls out, the trickle becomes a brief gush, and she sighs, hoping that it doesn’t turn him off.  She tries to lift herself with just her abdominal muscles to force out anything that might remain, but it seems whatever little was in her has made its way out.  She sits up, balls up the wet towel and drops it on the floor.  “You got another?”  Without a word, York leans over the side of the bed and hauls up another towel.  It looks wrinkled and used, but it’ll work.  She gets up just long enough to fold and place it, then lays back down.

Carolina stretches over to the bedside table to grab York’s glass of water.  She pushes it into his hands before relaxing back into the sheets and slowly opening her legs to him.  “Your turn.”

York sits and stares at the glass in his hands before pitching forward and resting his forehead on her knee. “Sugar,” he whines, with a despairing little laugh, “‘m too drunk to follow you right now. My turn to what?”

Carolina bites her lip hard to keep from laughing, then sits back up to run her fingers tenderly through his hair.  “It’s your turn to push ice inside me.  Then you can climb on top of me and fuck me until it melts.”  She keeps moving her fingers over his scalp, dragging her nails a little more heavily.  “If you think that would still feel good?”

“Oh, shit,” and he swears he can feel himself get dizzy with the rush of blood leaving his head, “shit, shit, shit, shit,” until it becomes a mantra, background noise to fill the silence of the room as he fumbles ice out of the glass. 

The first one slides in like a dream, vanishing completely inside of her with only Carolina’s shiver to prove it's even there. The second he traces around her opening in a quick half-circle, just enough to make her draw in a short breath before he plunges it inside of her as well. And the third he sucks inside his mouth first, meeting her gaze, before sliding down her body to ease it in with his tongue.

Mouth still cool from the ice, York crawls up her body to kiss her, closed-mouthed and chaste, before latching his lips around her nipple and pressing his chilled tongue against the hot flesh. The underside is still warm and he alternates between them with a few laps until Carolina is writhing under him.

“York…”  Carolina’s voice is gentle, and at odds with her words.  “You fucking bastard.”  She clutches him to her, digging her nails into his back.  “God, no, don’t waste it.  In me.  Before it melts...before it’s gone…”

She hears the moan from him as he pulls away in order to line them up.  As he pushes in, she gasps, but keeps her head enough to rock into him, fully sheathing him into the mix of heat and ice.

The shock is finally wearing off, leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake as York settles into a rhythm, each inhale a shudder and each exhale a high-pitched, breathless moan. If he’d been sober he would have been self-conscious for sounding so much like a girl, but in the moment he doesn’t care. The pace is sets is slow, too slow to be satisfying for either of them, but when each thrust sends shocks up York’s spine like he’s being tasered, he can't go much faster. It's just so much, and he’s so drunk, and Carolina is too amazing not to savor.

Carolina rolls against York, trying to coax him along.  She loves every sound he makes, but she needs more - she needs him faster, harder, deeper in her.  It slowly becomes clear that York is at some sort of limit, and she is afraid to push him, unsure if he’ll react with bliss or pain.  Without stopping her efforts, she reaches out.  “York… you okay?  Want me on top?  For a bit?”

“Y-yeah,” he manages, anchoring her hips on him as deep as she can take him and hearing her squeal as he rolls them over. Ice water sluices down his hips, driving the breath from her body; he sinks his fingers into her skin, rips his chin back and howls. Had it not been for the shock of cold on the rest of his body, especially his balls, he might have come just from that alone. As it is, and as there’s still ice inside of her that's sharp and exciting every time she so much as breathes, York jerks under her and fights to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head.

Carolina gathers herself for a moment, settling on top of him, leans down to whisper to her shivering lover.  “Eyes on me, York.”  She waits until she sees his lashes part, until she can see a glimpse of blue, and then she starts to move.  

She rocks hard on him, lifting and dropping down, riding him with fury.  The faster she moves, the more she can feel leaking out, but she ignores it, focuses on the way York twitches and moans, the way his breath rips out of him at some times, and at others he nearly sobs, bringing his palms up to cover his eyes before she taps him sharply and he obediently brings them back down again, locking eyes with her.  She keeps up a punishing pace, and loves it, and knows he does too when he takes her by the hips, helping her along even as he suffers.

It's too much; watching her bounce on him and the fluid way her body moves, feeling her tight and slick and hot and cold and soaking wet around him, hearing her rough breathing as she too starts to near orgasm. York moves his hands up to her breasts, supporting them and cupping them against her chest as she rides him, too overwhelmed to do much but hold her as he reaches his climax. The last of the ice is melting, dripping from her body onto his, mingling with her own juices as he tries to pull her down for a kiss.

“Close,” he manages after a half dozen failed attempts at speaking, the word murmured against her lips.  

“Close,” she echoes back, but it's a lie - she's already there.  She tries to say his name, but it shelters in her mouth, unspoken as she gasps and shakes against him, another piece of him that she tightens around.  It marks her, claims her.  She is his, inside and out, but even lost in her orgasm she wants something more.  She manages to turn her head, dropping her mouth to his ear and breathes, “Come.”

He does. What it's like for her as he does, York has no idea. His senses seem to short out entirely, breath tearing out of him as he thinks he holds her closer to him, deeper on him as he pours himself into her but he can’t be sure. All he knows is that it's mind-blowing, whole-body-tingling, heart-stoppingly amazing.

York grasps her to him so tightly she can barely breathe, as though trying to pull her so close that they become one body.  But it would have taken her breath anyway, to feel him spasm against her silently, again and again, feel him filling her, seeing the tears leaking from his eyes before he goes limp in her arms.  She shudders against him as her body relaxes and she can breathe again.  She finds her favourite spot against his neck and nestles there, drunk on the feel on his body against her, in her.

It takes him a while to come back to his senses, and he does so in pieces; first the sound of Carolina breathing deep and even at his ear, then the feeling of her completely encompassing his awareness, and at last a flash of out of focus red hair and the ceiling of his room. The hair he knows won't come into focus no matter how many times he blinks, so he closes his eyes against the familiar tug of scar tissue and buries his nose against the back of her head, breathing in deep the smell of sweat and shampoo and hints of booze.

“You need water,” he manages, shifting his grip on her to be a caress up and down her spine. “Fuck, I'm still so drunk.”

Her only response is to press her face into his neck and shiver.  The ice and water inside her is cooling her blood that runs through all the vessels there, spreading the cold through her body.  She doesn't want to move, just huddle against him for his warmth.

He makes a soft noise in concern and starts fumbling for the blankets. When he starts to roll them, his cock slips out of her as well as a dribble of ice water; York whisks the blankets out from under her, replaces the towel with a pair of sweatpants that he’ll mourn when he’s sober, and covers her with the sheets.

“C’mere, darling, I’ve got you,” and he nuzzles her neck, holding her close, “there we go, that’s it, easy,” and a half dozen other murmured words of comfort and love as they lay on their sides, limbs tangled together.

It doesn't take long before his heat soaks into her, helped by the blankets, and as she relaxes, a different warmth fills her.  She presses her lips to his chest, then his neck and when she feels his hands stroke up and down her back in response she lets out a sigh of pure contentment.  “I love you so much.  Was that okay?”

“More than okay. I think that was the best sex I've ever had, but it's so damn hard to think right now,” York replies, breaking down into laughs as he kisses her on the corner of her mouth, her nose, blinded by love and pure drunk delight. “God, I still can't believe I've got  _ you _ . Agent Carolina. You know, some people used to call you frigid but I don’t think this is what they meant.”

Carolina smiles against him.  “You know how to make me melt.  In so many ways.”  She slides her hand up to cup his face before moving it around to the back of his neck, over his port.  She draws him in for a kiss, long and gentle, affectionate rather than lustful.  She pulls away, stroking his hair and resting her forehead against his. 

“I'm serious about that water. Be right back.” York untangles their bodies and starts to head for the bathroom, but between the sex and the alcohol and the the blankets he can’t get his legs to respond in time and face plants on his bedroom floor with a resounding thud.

“York? Oh my god, York…”  

Not trusting her own legs, Carolina slides off the bed and crawls to his side.  She grabs him by the shoulder and hip, rolling him onto his back.  “York, are you okay?  Can you hear me?  Did you hit your head?  Did you--”  

His cackling cuts her off, loud enough to be heard in the hallway.  Carolina claps a hand over his mouth without thinking and immediately  feels guilty, but as she starts to pull away, his shrill laughter forces her to gag him again.  Worry and amusement fight for the upper hand, and she leans down to hiss at him.  “Shut up!  Oh my god, York… for the love of… you're going to wake the entire--!”  

He cuts her off a second time by opening his mouth, pressing his tongue against her hand, and it's her turn to shriek at this completely unexpected ticklish spot.  York’s eyes light up and he seizes her wrist, licking and laughing into her palm as she giggles, writhes and swears. 

“You were worried,” he drawls when he has her pinned on the floor under him, “how adorable.”  

“Of course I was worried.” She grins up at him, half heartedly trying to twist out from under him. “When you're in medical, my sex life suffers.”

York purrs, stealing another kiss and licks his way into her mouth, savoring the way it makes her sigh under him. “Knew you were only using me for my body,” he says, a lie so transparent it makes him grin. One last kiss before he pulls himself to his feet, one hand against the wall.

“I vote we shower in the morning. What say you?” 

“Seconded.” As nice as it would be to stand in a weak jet of hot water with him, it is too easy to imagine someone slipping. The mental image of being forced to call for medical while they are a naked tangle of limbs on the bathroom floor was not worth entertaining. Still, as York lurches back to bed, Carolina unsteadily gets to her feet and makes her way to the bathroom alone.

All she wants is to wash off the worst of the stickiness that remains from York's body shot, but it is only after she has wet her hand and scrubbed it down her chest that she remembers there are no towels.  Sighing, she tries to slough away as much of the water as possible with the edge of her hand, flicking the drops into the sink.  What little is left she tries to transfer to her arms and legs, scrubbing it into dry skin to evaporate.  So much for being warm, but at least there is a body waiting for her in the next room that will take care of that for her again.  

Carolina turns to walk back, but stops in the doorway.  York is lying on his back in bed waiting for her, one hand tucked behind his head.  The blankets cover him only to the waist, and for a moment she is happy to stop and appreciate how gorgeous he really is.  He grins at her and shifts in bed, stretching and preening under her gaze, and she sighs, shakes her head affectionately before joining him.  

“Missed you,” he says, waiting for her to settle in bed before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her snug against him, humming with contentment as he feels her start to settle. Reaching over her, he brings the freshly filled glass to her hand and gives her room to roll on her back and sit up. “Rehydrate, sweetheart? I don't want you to have a hangover tomorrow.”

“Yeah, no one wants a repeat of the the New Year’s Eve party.” Carolina gets comfortable before taking the glass, and slowly sips her way through it.  She watches him as she drinks, but this time, York doesn't seem inclined to show off.  Instead he holds her gaze with a soft smile, head tilted to the side and a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

Something in him starts to twist the longer he looks at her, affection turning into pain as he bites his tongue on a thousand things he shouldn't ask her, promises neither of them can afford to make, and he rolls over into his back to look away from her. Even if it hurts, he can't stay away from her for long, and finds himself looking at her again.

“This is real, isn't it?” he asks, words hanging heavy at such a late hour.

“Which part?” Carolina holds her nearly empty glass in one hand, using the other to draw her fingers along his cheek, along his hairline.  

“All of it. Us. You.” York leans into her touch, hungry for it. Then he chuckles. “Don't mind me, I'm still pretty buzzed. Just… so happy right now. Feels like I shouldn't be. Maybe I should put D back in, he’ll slap the joy right out of me with some statistics, what do you think?”

“No.”  She's almost alarmed at the emotion rising in her in response to his words. “You should be happy.  You  _ deserve _ to be happy.  I want to see you happy, make you happy.” She pushes the glass onto the bedside table and gets right down with him, holding him, looking him straight in the eyes because this is  _ important. _  “This is real, you wonderful idiot.  You are real, I am real. We are real.  Everything we did tonight was real.”  She rests her head against his, holding them together as if she could transfer her confidence to him through touch alone.  “But in case you need a reminder…”  

She releases him, fumbling about until she finds his hand.  She raises his fingers to her lips, then turns him to expose his wrist.  She kisses the delicate skin there and begins to suck.  She works quietly, listening to his breath catch.  After a moment she sits back.  

“There. If you ever need a reminder.  If you ever need proof.  It's right there.  And when it disappears, if you still need assurance, I'll do it again. And again.  As long as you need until you believe it.”

“See? This is what I mean. This-- you’re so--” he refuses to cry. Not in front of her. Not over this. York holds her gaze as long as he can, suffocating under the truth in it, and finally surrenders. “... Okay. If I believe in anything, it's you.”

One last kiss, then, before he turns down the lights low and they settle down together; Carolina finishing her water and encouraging him to wrap his body around her. York finds his hand pressed against her stomach, intending to keep her warm, but as sleep carries him away he thinks of other things and a bright, impossible morning after.


End file.
